


Bedroom Hymns

by Gunshy Fiction (Defiler_Wyrm)



Series: Bedroom Hymns [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Bottom!Sam, M/M, Made For Each Other, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rivalry, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defiler_Wyrm/pseuds/Gunshy%20Fiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which archangels bicker, and Sam is kind of  occupied. (PWP with a point.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There’s no denying that it’s flattering, even awe-inspiring, to have two archangels fighting over him, but their timing leaves something to be desired.

“He was  _made_  for me,” Lucifer drawls; “we all know this. We’ve always known it. He was made to have me inside him.” His grip is cold but never still, slithering from its bruising grip on Sam’s hip up his spine to a shoulder, down his sides, across chest and thighs; it wends through his hair and strokes his face in gestures that would be tender if they weren’t possessive in every sense of the term. Cold, but never still, just like the insistent, heavy flesh moving through Sam’s gut.

It hadn’t taken long to set his protestations aside when he first found how true the Morning Star’s words were. Those chilly hands cup his jaw and hip perfectly; their thighs are an easy fit despite the difference in height; and when the archangel drives into him, oh, he hadn’t  _dreamed_  of feeling this complete. Every languid, rolling stroke – or sharp and fierce, because they’re both creatures of fury and this simmering gait can only satisfy them for so long – fills him to the brim, stretches him just enough to burn against the unrelenting cold, strokes and weighs against his insides right where it’ll drive him mad with pleasure. 

Part of Sam tries to rationalise it away as being a matter of the vessel and how Lucifer steers it. With each crash of their hips he lets that thought slip further away. They’re a perfect fit – literally. He sighs and shivers and rolls his hips back and every cell of his body sings  _Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer_  even as his mind cries out for  _Gabriel_  and neither of these desperate prayers have far to go.

Sam flicks his gaze up from the nest of hair wreathing the Herald’s cock, so heated in his mouth and throat compared to the one taking him from behind, and Gabriel’s eyes (golden, brazen, like the archangel himself) meet his for a moment before turning on his brother. “You know, when you taught these critters how to choose like you did, that kinda set your little kismet here up to make choices, too.”

Better words than blades, Sam figures. He knows these two just well enough to know that it’s not so much Lucifer professing devotion to a human or Gabriel championing free will (because neither of them would) as the former staking his claim and the latter lashing out for ancient hurts. All the same they pour enough attention into Sam’s body, Sam’s pleasure, that he doesn’t felt forgotten for a moment. The archangels grind into him from each side, pet him, adore him, answering his selfish prayers right through their quarreling.

Little keening noises escape his throat: most are muffled by Gabriel’s length as he sucks at it, but now and then they break into groans when he draws back for breath and to swipe his tongue around the thick glans, thrilling at the salty drops that bead at the tip. Lucifer’s rubbing hard against his prostate but not long enough to tip him over the edge; no, he’s drawing it out, maybe even showing off.

Sam doesn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know the Devil’s pursed his lips and cast a considering glance at the ceiling. He can  _hear_  the smug, mocking smirk in his voice. “And yet, he still chooses me. He  _will_  let me in, sooner or later.”

“I dunno, bro, kind of hard for him to say ‘Yes’ when his mouth’s full of my dick.”

Which it isn’t, a moment later: instead he’s pulling off Gabriel with a wet _pop_ , clenching hard enough around Lucifer to stall his thrusts, and turning his best bitchface up at both archangels. “I’m  _right here_  you know.”

Both of them blink down at him with the same measure of affectionate annoyance and say, “Shut up, Sam.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the sex makes up for the sniping, and several light bulbs do not survive. (More PWP with a point.)

Thank God, they’ve finally stopped bickering.

Actually maybe God isn’t the one he should be thanking right now. Whatever. They’re moving again, all wandering hands and rolling hips, making it hard to think. Good. He doesn’t want to think right now, just wants to feel this while it lasts.

If he put his mind to it he’s sure he could draw Gabriel deeper into his throat but that would require the little bastard to hold still and that’s just not in the cards. The archangel – god – whatever keeps Sam steady with a hand on his head and neck near his ear. The grip on his hair isn’t quite gentle, nor is the deliberate pace with which his mouth is getting fucked. It’s better that way. Sam’s not sure he could take it otherwise.

Not when Lucifer’s been so careful with him at the start. The attentiveness had been unexpected – but, let’s face it, a pleasant surprise. The Devil apparently took some strange delight in priming him for this and oh had it paid off. They’d started off slow, sure: slow and deep and perfect until he needed  _more_ , and now Lucifer snapped his hips and bucked against him with enough force to make him jolt forward and damn near gag on Gabriel, eliciting breathless gasps of pleasure from the shorter archangel in turn. His body was– God, it didn’t feel like he was  _on_ fire, it felt like he  _was_  fire, all hot blood flushing skin and flexing muscles and quivering insides clutching the intruding shafts like he’d die without them, pressure coiling in the locked elbows that held his chest up off the bed and in his stomach and in his tumid cock, dripping and aching to be touched – aching for  _their_  touch.

Gabriel can’t reach (Sam’s fault for being too tall, he’s said before) but his brother can. Lucifer leans down to mould himself against Sam’s back and wraps his arms around the human’s torso like iron bands. He keeps driving in, hard and fast now, nudging Sam’s knees further apart to grind their bodies together so hard their groins barely part at all. One hand pinches and rolls a nipple, then scratches welts into his chest on the way to the other. The other takes its time about smoothing down his belly where it pauses to press  _up_  and Sam makes a noise somewhere between groan and alarmed squawk, eyes wide with shock at how much  _bigger_  it makes Lucifer feel inside him. Lucifer’s chuckle gets him a ’ _Really?_ ’ look from Gabriel that he studiously ignores.

Nope. Too busy pressing cold-lipped kisses into his true vessel’s nape. Finally he reaches the coarse hairs between Sam’s legs to tease his sac and the base of his cock. The chorus of pleasant hums rises right back into something more urgent and Sam’s mind lights up with  _Please Lucifer, please, please, please_  so loud he may as well be screaming. 

It doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter when that hand grasps him, strokes him, tugs and twists just the way he would were he doing it himself and it’s so  _perfect_  Sam has to wonder if the archangel’s using his memories as a handbook here. He’s leaning back hard to get more of that shaft into his ass. God, the pressure on his prostate is going to make him explode if he can’t come soon, and the power coursing through his bed-partners like an electrical storm only seems to magnify the sensation.

This is about the time that Lucifer raises his head from Sam’s back to give his brother a look that redefines the word ‘smug’ in every language Earth’s ever had. Gabriel bites his tongue because one, he’s not going to rise to that bait, and two, the  _noises_  Sam is making around his cock are not to be missed, to say nothing of the  _faces_. If he could distill that he’d put Eros himself out of commission. He traces the creases between Sam’s brows, the delicate shapes of his ears, the jaw that’s straining to stay wide enough for him. Hazel eyes dilated with lust seek Gabriel’s to beg him for more, more, more and it makes his breath stutter and hitch. The walls tremble as much as Sam himself does. The lights flicker. Close now. They’re all so close.

“Do it, Sammy, come for us.”

It’s command and permission and supplication all at once and it unmakes him to the core.

The archangels’ hands hold him tight as vices. Their groins spear into him sharp as knives. All the pressure pooling in his belly rushes down – his balls pull taut – and his flesh strains in Lucifer’s hand through an orgasm that wracks his body and tears a scream from his throat that would be one angel’s name or the other’s or both were it not still occupied. Both of them seem to forget each other in favour of watching this perfect moment played out in the bow and twist of the Winchester’s spine.

“Good. Good boy, my good Sam,” Lucifer purrs, palming him still, pumping into him still. His satisfied smirk curls into something darker as he looks up again to croon: “Go on and blow, Gabriel blow.”

“Pfft,” Gabriel answers. Sam’s too slack with afterglow to laugh, but he does hum agreement with the Morning Star (God help him for that), and gives a hard suck of encouragement. 

It isn’t long before their intermittent gasps and groans take on a tone he can’t quite wrap his head around save that it  _hurts_  in the same way feedback hurts. It rattles his bones – or is that their thrusting – or is it the shaking bed, no, _room_ underneath them? Fuck it, he doesn’t know, but that tone is getting louder as they speed up and lights dim, then brighten, everything’s so  _bright_ –

Sam nearly startles out of his skin when the first bulb pops. It doesn’t get dark. It’s not the lights, he finally realises. Gabriel presses a hand over his eyes. When he pants out, “Sorry you can’t see this, Sammy,” it sounds less like the over-cheerful voice of a short guy he met in Ohio years ago and more like– 

More like something ancient and terrible, something that was around to watch the first cells of life form in the sea. It’s more than he can take in, not when he’s still shivering from his own climax and about to take both of theirs. But now at least, he thinks as the world goes white, he knows where the name Lightbringer came from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooner or later this series is going to require some reworking so it flows better in chronological order of events rather than chronological order of release. For now, though, EH.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam is overwhelmed, and his partners can’t stay.

When he comes to he’s flanked: too cold on one side, too warm on the other, but strangely temperate between them, as if his body is balancing it out. The exhausted,  head-to-toe ache is pleasant. The ringing in his ears, less so. There’s no warm dampness in them that would indicate burst eardrums, so there’s that at least – or if their Voices did get that out of hand they must have healed him. Either way sound drifts in through the buzzing and haze and it takes him a moment to realise these sounds are words.

Gutteral, growled out in monotone, one aching, ancient syllable at a time. It’s a language older than his kind. They’re speaking Enochian in murmurs over him and this, even more than the fireworks of their release, reminds Sam how very, very far from human both his partners are. 

Lucifer, the Lightbringer, stretched out behind him with an arm draped over him to stroke his chest. Gooseflesh rises where frigid fingertips trace the anti-possession tattoo. Gabriel, Herald of God – or Loki the Trickster, and who knows how many other names – curled against his front with his ankles hooked under Sam’s feet, idly toying with his hair.

There are probably more blasphemous things he could do than have a fairly (okay, extremely) gay threesome with archangels but damned if he can think of what.

It makes his mind flutter like a stalling heart against the enormity of this. It’s so far beyond the level of werewolves and kitsune and even demons; these are two of the most powerful beings in the  _universe_  and he’s in a post-coital tangle with them, the undone and the divine. He shouldn’t be ungrateful but God, why him? He’s not worth this, too broken and insignificant, too–

“Stop that.”

A sliver of irritation for having his thoughts read cuts through the murk but he can’t miss the gentle reproach in Lucifer’s voice, nor the enormity of what he sees when a hand grasps his chin to make him look the Devil in the eye. The weight of that gaze alone is eloquent enough to get the point across:  _You are mine, you are worthy of me_. It’s not exactly making him any less overwhelmed.

“If you’re ever gonna take someone’s word for something, Samwich,” Gabriel chirps with a pinch at his hip, “might as well be this. You really think either of us’d take interest in something boring and unimportant? Let alone both of us?”

But Lucifer is the Great Deceiver, for all he’s promised never to lie to him, and Gabriel’s spent thousands of years incognito as a Trickster god; how trustworthy are either of them? All of this could just as easily be another ploy to wrest the final Yes from him. Gabriel rolls his eyes and Lucifer huffs out a sigh that cools a burning ear. 

“You’re impossible,” the latter mutters, and even then there’s a fondness in the Unmaker’s voice he’d never imagined could exist. If he hopes, if he dares to hope for this, Sam isn’t certain if he’d call it a prayer or call it a dream. He knows damn well he can’t _make_ either one of them keep their promise not to bring up the Apocalypse during or right after sex. All he has is hope, and not a lot of it.

Sam’s answering sigh is much sharper but he does relax, allowing himself to sag into the (now undoubtedly broken) mattress. He slips an arm around Gabriel’s lower back when he shuffles closer, and surprises himself by not pulling away when Lucifer tightens his grip to do the same. Exhaustion turns his limbs to lead. A slow squirm reveals a lack of drying fluids stuck to his skin; which of them thought to do that, he wonders…? It’s little things like this that chip away at him.

Too much thinking. Just because he’s  _there_  and those golden-brass eyes are watching him far too keenly he kisses along Gabriel’s jawline until the angel steals his lips for a  _proper_  kiss. Playful nibbles and licks coax his mouth open for Gabriel to plunder with his tongue, licking across Sam’s own and the roof of his mouth where the bitter-salt taste of his own flesh and seed are still strong. _Defining and refining the term ‘oral fixation’_ , he muses to himself, and Gabriel snickers into the kiss. Sam can’t help but grin back.

It’s enough of a pause for a chilly hand to slide up the human’s throat and tilt his head up, back: Lucifer is patient but jealous, generous but possessive. When he crushes his mouth to Sam’s it’s all dominance and fury and  _claiming_  right up til his vessel surrenders to it and his brother distracts himself with nibbling a collarbone. And then it’s a soothing, deliberate, slow burn. It’s more lips and stroking fingertips, less teeth and competition. Altogether more gentle than Satan has any business being. He gets nipped for that thought.

“I could be decidedly less gentle,” Lucifer rumbles, brushing hair off Sam’s forehead. This time he doesn’t ignore the sharp-eyed warning look his brother gives him, but meets it defiantly. “I can be anything you want.”

Sam glances between the two archangels with a sigh and lets his eyes slide shut. Anything he wants but here in the morning, because they can’t  _both_  be, no, this balance is far too delicate and that’s a line in the sand he can’t afford to draw. So instead he lets the offer hang in the air unanswered. It isn’t a yes, the angels note, but it’s not his former emphatic no.

It’s as much an answer as they’ll get from him tonight. Sleep is threatening to overtake him as it is.

There’s another mutter of Enochian. Sam cracks an eye open. He knows the tone from the dreams in which Lucifer tempts him. Gabriel tenses and looks away (it’s never a good sign when a god looks  _furtive_ ); but when he turns back to Sam it’s with a smirk and a parting grope. “Catch you later, kiddo.” 

He’s gone with a ripple of parting air and wingbeats. The human twists to level an accusatory stare, head tilted just so.  _What did you_  say  _to him?_

“You need to sleep,” the Lightbringer admonishes instead through lips pressed into Sam’s temple. “We have  _so_  much work to do.”

And there it is. The balance tipped, the inevitable broached. Sam buries his face in the pillow and does his damnedest to ingore the fact that he’s shivering subtly without Gabriel pressed to the other side of him; tries to ignore the blissful sense of rightness and belonging; tries to ignore the breathless tug of something he can’t name, deeper than marrow, calling out for the Fallen angel. He’s just the right mix of terrified and annoyed to rail against it – albeit weakly. They did a number on him after all.

“Look,” he starts without lifting his head, “if you’re just–”

Seems even angels can take a hint once in a while. Sam tips backwards (suddenly lacking Lucifer’s support), sighs through his nose, and stretches out across the cool and warm spots they left behind. He can angst over this when he’s rested. As if in agreement, his brain supplies the same parting shot it always pops off before he sleeps after these trysts:

_Dean’s going to **fucking kill me**._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late! It's still Monday in my time zone at least! This is all I've written for the Bedroom Hymns continuity thus far, but I'm gonna try to actually keep updating weekly – even if it's just small entries like most of the rest of these.

**Author's Note:**

> The first fanfiction I'd written in some ten years and probably the first adult one ever. This is what started it all.


End file.
